


skinship

by orphan_account



Series: vocabulary [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Pedophilia, Possessive Behavior, Pseudo-Incest, Step-Sibling Incest, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8698837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: skin·ship (n) bonding through the intimacy of touch, especially of the closeness between a guardian and child.   That is how you want John. Reliant, compliant, obedient. You want him to want you and no one but you. You need him to be at your beck and call, and training him in such a way is not hard. He is so trusting.





	

**Author's Note:**

> !!! why did i make this a series??? 
> 
> who knows!!!!! 
> 
> im procrastinating on my other psychostridery fic so im posting this to satiate my needs of getting something out there ya feel 
> 
> anyways enjoy my pals

You do not know how to judge Mr. Egbert. 

On one end, he is a kind man who bakes you lots of nice treats which you enjoy feeding to John, letting him lick at your fingers like you used to have him do before you let him suck you off. He lets you join the baseball team with your best friend, something your Bro never would’ve let you do, and you get to wear the sweet outfit and tease number 69 for kissing that red-headed girl behind the bleachers, go to parties with the coach’s son, and wear your uniform to school on Fridays. Mr. Egbert packs you a lunch every day, without fail, and every day when you get home there is a snack on the kitchen table. 

You’re not exactly sure what your Bro did to deserve this man. 

But on the other end, he seems oddly suspicious of you. He seems a little put off by the fact he can sometimes find John snuggled up beside you in your bed and drooling onto your shirt. He looks just slightly uncomfortable when John curls up on your lap, when he kisses you for too long or when he whines and pouts and asks you,  _ please, Davey,  _ with that puppy-eyed look. He never says anything, though. You wonder if that’s why Bro married him. He’s quiet, he’s polite, he’s mindful. You wonder what he would do if you told him about the college boy. Probably nothing. He would probably still cook dinner and call your Bro ‘dear’ and ruffle your hair and pack your lunches and tend to his son. 

You do not know what your Bro has done to this man to get him to be so dependent, but that is how you want John. Reliant, compliant, obedient. You want him to want you and no one but you. 

Sometimes, you browse Amazon and Etsy and those online sex shops and you add things to your basket that you know you can’t buy. You want to buy John pretty dresses and you want him to wear a collar so everyone knows he’s yours and you want him to play with those cute toys. You look up a lot about PO boxes, contemplate buying one so that you can ship these things there, but you are a broke middle schooler and no amount of birthday money is going to last to pay for that PO box year-round. It doesn’t stop you from imagining John like that (pretty panties pushes to one side, legs spread, hands clutching at your sheets as you push some vibrator inside him and he does not need to be quiet and everyone can hear him whimper and know that he is  _ yours). _

You try to teach John best you can. He is still young and impressionable. It’s not hard to get him to listen. You get selective about how you punish him, and you learn how to take deep breaths and count to ten when you get that heat in the back of your head,  try not to let those bad thoughts overcome your sensibilities. You leave the bruises in places where his cute shorts and his little shirts will cover, learn to have him fear your voice when it is in a low whisper and not in a shout, condition him to tremble when you so much as stop smiling so the punishments are as light and as unnoticeable as they can be. You need him to be at your beck and call, and training him is not hard. He is so trusting. 

You sometimes worry about being found out when he tells you that sometimes the counselor asks to talk to him. You aren’t sure if this would be enough to get you arrested. You do know that this is all one big case of statutory rape. You try not to care, try to not let this worry overcome you. You take a page from your Bro’s book and learn to be carelessly careful, poised and practiced. You do this by getting him attached to you, by showing him how easily you can take away everything you give to him, and how what you give to him are the best things that could be given to him.

The first time you fuck him he is nearly in double digits, age-wise. You have been careful. You have been so, so decidedly careful and when you’re positive the house will be empty you call him to you and you kiss him, leaving open-mouthed kisses on his neck and he giggles and grips at your shoulders that are broadening and you press your lips to his and nip at his bottom one and he is so beautifully compliant. 

He is used to the preparation, used to the coolness of the lube and the press of your fingers into him and he loves it. God, he loves it, he moans like a two dollar whore and his voice is still so high and he knows not to bite his lip or cheek or try to hide his sound at all. When you brush up against that one spot he cries your name and it is so gorgeous, it is the most precious thing you’ve ever heard, you want to have him sound like that for you and only you forever and ever. 

You could not take much more and very carefully you decided to initiate the first real round of sex you’d ever had with John and it doesn’t frighten you like the thought used to, right now the only thing you can think about is yourself and being selfish feels good and it feels even better when you line yourself up and push into John. 

His face is white and his thighs are taut and his fingers dig into his sheets and he is begging you, _ Dave, please, slow down, _ but you are focused on yourself and you shush him and tell him that you’ve got him. And when you are all the way inside of him and he is still just as rigid, you pull out slowly and push back in and there is a whimper torn from his throat and you tell yourself he must enjoy this. Of course, he enjoys it, right? Why else would he cry your name like that?

When you finish inside of him, he is really sobbing, red-eyed and sniffling. You cuddle him close and call him  _ such a good boy, your best boy, _ and then you tell him that you two are gonna take a nice shower together and that in the morning he can suck you off. He sniffles and wipes at his nose and nods and says  _ okay, thank you, _ and then he latches onto you in a hug. 

You hope puberty wouldn’t spoil John. He is so small and soft, gentle and little, and you fear that will be ruined. You refuse to have that be ruined. He starts talking about joining baseball like you and you tell him that really good boys shouldn’t play sports. You did not want him getting callouses on his hands from the bats. He talks about soccer. You say no, again, you did not want him to have knobby knees or scratched up legs. Football is out of the question, he is too fragile. And why on earth would he want to swim or run track or play volleyball or basketball when all that will do will make him undesirable? 

“Un-desirable?” he asks you in that odd way he has of splitting words, the slight stutter he’s developed over the years accenting his speech. 

“It means I won’t want you,” you say. His eyes go wide. 

“I want you to like me, Davey! Please, please like me!” 

“Hey, hey. You know I love you,” you tell him and he blushes, beams, looks down satisfied, “but I don’t want you ruining your pretty face and perfect little body with all of these sports. And, speaking of, all that overeating.”

“Overeating?” he asks, furrowing his little brows, holding his hands over his stomach.

“Yeah. You need to balance a diet.”

“But Dad says that this is just baby fat I’ll grow out of.” 

You give him one of your sterner looks, your half-smile dropping. He immediately goes into a pre-panic mode, and you see the slight shiver in his stance. “John,” you tell him, voice low, “do you trust your dad or do you trust me?” 

He kicks his heels together, hands locked behind his back. “Y-You, Dave.” 

“Good boy,” you tell him, plastering the smile back on, “C’mere. You’ve been awful good today.” 

He looks back up at you, slightly scared but otherwise glad you aren’t mad. He runs up to hug you and asks, very quietly, for a special kiss. So you press your lips to his and let him poke his tongue around in your mouth. It is sloppy and childish, yes, but you love it.

That is why you love everything about John.

**Author's Note:**

> [here's my personal blog.](http://luciferslittlekitten.tumblr.com/)   
>  [here's my writing blog.](http://gods--among--us.tumblr.com/)   
> 


End file.
